The shit had gone down, and they were out of town, baby, out o town. Dark picked up the next rock in the little pile he'd made, and threw it in a spinning arc across the surface of the lake. The rock skipped across Flathead's surface four or five times and disappeared, lost in the depths. The sun had set about a half hour ago, and the moon was setting up shop, its reflection shimmering across the lake. He took a deep pull from his cigarette.

They were targets now, Tony and he. Something had gone wrong with the hit. The name the little man, Bryant, had given them had been good, a little too good. Robbie Chan. Tony was pretty sure the hit out on them was because they knew this name. All that Dark knew about the man was what Tony had told him (which could be total bullshit), that he'd heard he was a big underworld figure in San Francisco's China Town. Robbie Chan. Dark was still trying to figure, with what little information he had, why this man's death was coming back at him, now. Something, some part of what he knew, was so important they were hunting him like an animal, despite his connections, and despite the supposed loyalty of his "family". But what? What did he know, or what did they think he knew? He was slowly only beginning to process it, and decided to say fuck it for now.

He was relatively safe for the moment. Dark had established this safehouse years and years ago, before he ever met Scalari, or, in fact, any of the people he dealt with now. He'd cleaned his trail the way here, too, for the most part. The frustrating thing about being on the run in a technological society was you never knew what they were looking for you with. The kind of shit going around in stealth and spying circuits now was ridiculous, and he knew he'd only seen the surface.

But Dark knew how to disappear, and he'd done a damn good job. They would not find him for a while. The beautiful thing about Flathead Lake was it was in Montana, the last place (he hoped) they'd think to look for him. Montana was the state with the lowest population per square mile in the nation. Shit, look how long it had taken them to find Kaczynski? Even though, he could only afford to stay a month or two, at most. He could still feel the heat of that hit order on him.

Tony had gone who knows where. They had known better than to tell each other. Dark had verified the hit through other sources before splitting; he didn't trust Tony as far as he could throw him. One thing about Tony though. He could smell a hit a mile away. Good motherfucker to be around as long as he didn't turn on you.

All Dark's other sources had verified about the hit was that there was one. Dark and Tony were both being hunted, but his sources were not sure as to the hunters or their motivation. The fact that he knew about the hit meant that someone had leaked it. An unknown person had arranged for them to have some warning, a chance at survival. He hoped it was Scalari.

Who knew what the fuck was going on? They were after him, whoever they were. Someone wanted him dead, another someone wanted him alive. Were those two someones enemies to each other? There were so many angles this shit could have been coming from.

Fuck it. Dark was happy to still be alive. It was high time for a vacation anyway. He skipped one last stone into the lake, put out his cigarette under his boot, and headed back towards the lakefront cabin. Time for some TV and bourbon, always a good combo to ease the nerves.

This is funny. When action figures come alive, parts 1 and 2. It's a transcript of what a bunch of action figures might do when we're not looking, and it seems to imply some kind of homo action between Luke Skywalker and Aquaman. Care of a small victory.

Also, you should definitely read the sports guy bill simmon's ramblings today. This guy is the only sports columnist I read regularly, and he is fukn hilarious.

Oh and if I haven't said it enough times, let me say it again, pick up the new DJ Shadow record goddammit!!! It is the best fukn record of the year. ok. Now you have no excuse. I mean, you will feel the meaning in even a blade of grass, that's how deep this record is, you will know the pain of a panda in beijing with it's foot caught in a bear trap, you will know the hunger of a wild mongoose roaming the plains of Nairobi. There's that much vibe to this record I'm telling you.

Besides that, really not much to say right now, and not much time to say it. I'll be back later with treats. promise. In the meantime, if you're done with your asparagus, i GUESS it's okay if you go read some meesh and tony, but don't sit too close to the monitor you little rugrats, and if your ass ain't in bed by 8:30 I'm sending in the doberman gang.

i was just thinking about the time me and some buddies went exploring in the storm drains of g-town cali. it was greasy, booker, and lil ol me. maybe tone-dogger was in the hizaus, but i don't think so.

it was one of those summer days when you're like 15 years old. ain't shit to do. you're hangin with the homeys, daytime so no skinemax, what to do? get fukn goonies style beyotch. first step was to make sure we had proper supplies. got some good vittles in us, in case we got stranded or hunted down by some sleestacks. we would need our strength for the trials ahead.

actually i think we were just cruising outside looking at where the water flowed and decided to follow it. i remember climbing fences, wandering through other people's backyards, all over the neighborhood. so we end up at the side of the road and the water flows down this tube, down

below

to where that land could be lost. as in stleestacks action. we had to make sure we had pez, cuz it was good food, and you never know, you might get lonely down there if your cut off from the crew. having a pez dispenser with a nice character like dopey the dwarf or wonder woman would be chronic boobonic. So we got some rope from greasey's garage, and tied it around this pole, and snaked it down to the depths, where darkness and possibly chaka awaited. but we knew if we found the magic crystal it would be easy skeezy.

so long story short, we climbed down there and it was just a fukn storm drain. we cruised around for a ways either direction, didn't see anything interesting, got spooked out, ate pez, and then climbed back up the rope.

which reminds me - bartley asked how the hawaii rainbows (oops i mean warriors) were ranked in si's college football issue. let's see...

Timmy Chang is part of a long line of football prospects out of St. Louis High in the Kaimuki district of Honolulu. I'm pretty sure it's a Cathoic school. Their coach, Cal Lee, just had his last season after like 25 years or some shit. They'd basically been champs like 20 out of the last 25, but they lost the last couple years to Kahuku, a public school in the north shore area.

ok too deep into hawaii high school football probably. anyway, jason gesser at washington state came out of st. louis too.

The problem is that timmy chang just broke his finger in training camp last week. he should be there for the 2nd or third game, though. As for all those yards he threw for two years ago, it's pretty standard in June Jone's run & shoot, which scores like mad and is basically the theory of throwing to set up the run, rather than the other way around. There's mad plays just airing it out. UH ran up like 72 points on BYU last year ruining the Mormon's perfect season, after they'd been bitching for the last week that they weren't ranked higher and bcs bowl bound.

UH should be pretty good this year, but we'll see. They're in the punk ass WAC where the biggest worries are Boise State and Louisiana Tech. Oh yeah Fresno State's kind of a bitch, and they're playing BYU again this year. Oh well should be interesting.

a few random thoughts as I've got a couple minutes of breathing space. I was listening to the new Def Leppard album today, which my coworker burned for me, and I'm getting scared because I'm actually starting to like it. I mean, yeah, it's just a bunch of ballad bullshit and a few sad sack rock outs here and there, but, still, I'm starting to like, hum along, and even sing parts of it, and I'm, like, scared.

And as you know, it's hard to like Def Leppard in their current incarnation without people talking. You know what I mean, they're saying ahem, and okay, and all righty then, and there goes mr. def leppard over there.

I know I told you the story of the first album I ever bought, but I haven't told you about the second one. It was Def Leppard Pyromania. Damn that album is a classic study in early 80's butt-rock. From there I had to quickly fill out my library and picked up High 'n' Dry and On Through the Night. I think High 'n' Dry is my favorite Def Leppard album, it pretty much rocks the hardest, pretty raw and hardcore (well, hardcore for Def Leppard, I mean, they weren't like biting off batheads or anything, but they weren't pouring out any sugar yet.)

This was all in elementary school. By the time I got to junior high, it was on to a harder diet of Iron Maiden, Dio, and Ratt. OK Ratt isn't very hardcore, but neither was I so gimme a fukn break. I remember at the small private school I went to, all the guys were into like death metal, so I had to fit in. I wanted so bad to get Iron Maiden shirts with the devil on them and shit, but my Mom had a strict no satanic t-shirt policy, so I had to find ones that conveyed my evil messages, but weren't obvious enough so that parents would understand. My favorite shirt to rock was my PowerSlave one, which I got away with because Eddie is all hidden in that Egyptian temple. Maybe my Mom thought I was getting into ancient history or something. The other shirt I had was a Van Halen 1982 official tour shirt and a Ratt shirt that said "Ratt Attack" with a giant tank on it rolling over a bunch of people with rats everywhere. I had baggy ripped jeans, but never scored the parachute pants. On retrospect this is something I am happy about I think, although those pants had a lot of convenient zippers.

I did a lot of dumb shit around that age. We used to wander around Sierra Madre after getting out early on Fridays and do our version of terrorizing the neighborhood, which involved ding dong ditch and ripping plants out of random gardens. Random acts of fucking things up was considered very cool. Probably the dumbest thing I ever did associated with being a little hesher was actually bang my head. I had always heard stories of "headbanging" and how you had to bang your head to be a true metal man. So I was at this party and it was really cool, we were playing whip each other with our bandannas, there was plenty of ripped jeans and baby-mullets in the house, and I decided I would get hardcore and bang my head into the wall.

Damn that shit hurt. I had a headache the rest of the night and decided that from then on, headbanging should be left to the experts, which did not include myself. I would stick to the headbob and the headshake and the jumping up and down, but no more smashing my head into hard objects, thank you.

Bumpin' Social Distortion. This album really rocks in my humble opinion. I'm fairly certain I've mentioned it around here before, but I saw these guys play at the Groove (now World Cafe) in Honolulu a few years back, and they FUKN ROCK. I fukn moshed my ass off. I remember they played the longest version of "ball and chain" I'd ever heard, they must have stretched it for like 15 minutes, just rockin harder every chorus, until the crowd was a sweaty, bruised, battered, happy mess. Good times.

Went for a nice long walk on Kailua beach after work yesterday with Mrs. P. Nothing melts away the stresses of the day like cool ocean breezes and the sand between your toes. Good stuff. Lucky we live Hawaii, we are. Pretty nice when you can get off work and be cruising at the beach 5 minutes later. No complaints here, captain.

Kailua Beach is one of the last really long beaches left on the island. There's Kailua, Waimanalo, and I think there's a few up on North Shore and Makaha side. Supposedly, (and forgive me as I totally shred the theories of Geology or whatever because I'm talking out of my ass about an article I read like 6 months ago) the problem is that people build their phat houses on the beaches, and over the years, the water gets closer, through erosion, etcetera, and people build retaining walls in front of their house, which basically destroys the beach. I guess back in the day-ay, there were phat beaches everywhere, and now a lot have been wiped out by rich fuks protecting their million dollar homes by putting up beach walls and sandbags and shit.

Now ME if I had a million dollar house on the beach, I'd let mother ocean in to run free and short out my big screen and I'd invite her in for a bowl of soggy nachos.

yeah right.

Anyway, whatever. After our crip ass walk, we headed home for some bomb ass homemade sandwiches. We found this super good french bread that's like baked in olive oil and some spice which escapes me and is SO fukn good. Toast those puppies up just a tad, throw some pastrami, onions, lettuce, tomato, mustard, mayo, and queso in there, and grab some hot peppers for the side and you are sittin pretty, which we were.

Grinded those bad boys down and decided it was a good night to go out and put back some drinks. So we headed over the hill to the top of Ala Moana, home of the Mai-Tai Bar, site of the best happy hour on the island. Happy hour from 4 PM till closing every night practically (the hours vary a little) - how dope is that? Frosty Lava Flows and Icy Mai-Tais for $3 a pop. All in an out door setting with live Hawaiian music and chronic pupus for sale if your belly starts grumbling. So we chilled out, enjoyed the cool night air, and let the alcohol seep into our brains, souls, and bodies.

The mellow vibes were propogating like gangbusters, and good times were had by all.

I say fuck baseball. They're all rich and just want more cash. And it's almost football season.

Speaking of football, Terrel Davis was a great player, and it's sad to see the end of his career, but FUCK the Broncos so good riddance. And I can't feel to bad for TD, I mean he's got that phat contract sellin soup.

Oh wait, that's his mom.

PS: Raiders are just waiting to stomp this year, especially against Denver's weak asses.

Something really cool about this weekend was that Mrs. P and I had free fireworks shows from our backyard on Friday, Saturday, and even Sunday night.

Kaneohe Marine Base, which is very close to where we live, was having a big ol' carnival which they call the Bayfest. Friday night at about 8:30, we started hearing the booming sound of fireworks. I jumped outside to see what I could see, but the view from the front of the house was wack. Then I tried the backyard, and wallah!! Phat view of the fireworks going off over the bay. So we pulled up a couple plastic chairs and enjoyed the show, and were stoked with front row seats all weekend. One thing the military does not fuck around with is their fireworks, which were some of the best I've seen. Last night was especially impressive, and for the grand finale they threw everything up there but the kitchen sink, and maybe they threw that up there too, I certainly wouldn't have known.

The special guest singing group at Bayfest this year, according to the newspaper, was Collective Soul, which made me think, how far the mighty have fallen. These guys were pretty big time and now they're playing the equivalent of the county fair. We live so close to the base that I could hear them banging out their played out hits as I drifted off to sleep, in bed early Saturday night due to a headache that just didn't want to go away.

Well we saw Blue Crush this weekend, and I don't know, it was alright, but you could definitely wait for the rental on this one. The surfing scenes were pretty cool, and I guess they hit the local culture pretty good, better than the old school North Shore movie, but I don't know, the whole romance with the NFL Quarterback in town for the probowl was pretty fukn contrived and stupid. Anyway, it was aiight, I'd give it a tentative C+ I guess, if I was backed into the corner of an alley by a blue haired granny with a butter knife.

okey dokey my fanokeys. That's it for now. Maybe I'll hit you with one more little smidgen of knowledge a little later. IF you're good. And Santa knows whose been naughty and nice, yes he does.

I know that this is the kinder gentler nation and that we should all hug each other and shit like that but I was just over at Meesh's site and a link there led me to that stupid Save Karyn website. For those who haven't seen this before, SaveKaryn is asking for money, because credit cards are "bad," and she racked up about 20 G's of debt, and she was an innocent victim and yeah fukkin right. The thing that pisses me off, is that she's actually gotten like 7 grand off of this little fukn scam. Ya know, what if she doesn't even have credit card debt? Maybe it's fukn Bill Gates at the other end of that web site, just laughing his fukn ass off. I think this Save Karyn girl should go jump in a lake with about 50 bricks tied to her ankles. Damn she pisses me off. I paid off my debt to GiantCreditCorp slowly but surely like every other fuckhead in this country and people are flowing this chick major cash because she was stupid and racked up credit card debt!!!! Why does this piss me off so much????

You know who pisses me off more? People that give her money. Let the bitch starve!!! I mean I can see giving cash to Tony Pierce, because he is providing high quality entertainment, or Save the Whales, because they're like a good cause and shit, but some dumb bitch that let her credit cards get out of control??!!!??

DAMMITTT!!!!!!

OK. That was my little moment to vent off some steam. I shouldn't playa hate, SaveKaryn has a pretty phat hustle, and maybe I'm just jealous. Maybe I'm just a bitter, salty, pissed off, curmudgeonly, sadistic pile of shit BASTARD.

Maybe, but dammitt, sometimes the world needs that kind of shit. And people need to learn their fukn lessons, and not have the world fukn handed to them on a silver fukn platter sometimes. And it's time for my fukn geritol goddammitt.

Obviously I am in no condition to safely blog without making some kind of rift in the blogosphere, so I'm gonna shut my ass up.

I'm really thinking I shouldn't post this, it's just too needlessly bitter and vitriolic (whatever that means) and hateful and Yoda just would NOT approve. Maybe that's what I need to get some serious traffic, though, a war with the gimme money girl.

I'll be back later with something more upbeat, I promise, maybe a tribute to Air Supply or something.

I woke up feeling like this little guy looks this morning, but just like Master Yoda, there is more than meets the eye, and I'm starting to pick up steam and get rolling thanks to my good friend Juan Valdez and his trusty ass. er, mule, donkey, whatever. Not his actual ass, as in, ya know, his butt, oh forget it.

Being it's Monday and I'm feeling a little cranky, I thought I could shake the blues by giving props to some of the good folks around bloggoland, sort of pour some coffee out for my homeys you might say.

First on my list is the honorable, esteemable, the "reverend" as the kids seem to be calling him these days, Tony Pierce. I don't know if I've made it abudantly clear, but ultrablognetic would not exist if not for this guy. I mean, this blog wasn't even a twinkle in my grandpappy's eye before I stumbled on Tony's busblog, and bloggerville was made apparent to me, a vision of words, images, and ancient vampire wisdom. Anyway, I made this blog when Tony threatened to quit blogging until he got linked on 100 blogs. So I made one just to be on the list, and unlike Michael Jackson's nose, ultrablognetic is still here, BEYOTCH.

So thanks Tony, for giving me a creative outlet, my dog thanks you as well, cuz he doesn't have to play bingo with me anymore.

Second on my list of playas that deserve nuff respect is my bloggenstein brother from another mother, the hosemonster. He's another guy that made a blog just so Tony wouldn't quit, and I saw his blog, and it made me realize that I too, could blog, and then I ate some Cracker Jacks, and hit the game winning homer, and every one said, Alfred is a real cracker jack. At least I think that's what they were saying.

No list would be complete without mentioning the super cool and amazingly talented Meesh. No one else has said such nice things about my silly little blog like she has and I really appreciate it, even though when she said I was funny, I was thinking, oh what, so I'm like a clown to her, is that it? Does she think I'm funny looking or something, am I here to amuse her? Then I just beat the shit out of a jackrabbit with a baseball bat and I felt a lot better.

Also, mad props to Jim Treacher for being a hilarious ass mofo as well as a regular contributor to the shout out sections on this blog. If you haven't checked out Jim's clip-art section, you should quit smoking crack. If you don't smoke crack, consider starting.

All right that's about it. Honorary mention goes to Moxie (thanks for linking me!) and kd (amazing how many hits you can get by making a comment on Yoda's penis - truly a powerful appendage, at least that's what I've heard.)

okey dokey, that's all folks. Back later with some o that southern-fried crispy crusty funk.